


The Sensations Art Can Bring

by ViktuuriSakurai



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Mpreg, Yaoi, mentioned rape, ooc, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViktuuriSakurai/pseuds/ViktuuriSakurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder injects himself with the formula and expects to have super strength or mind-reading ablities. But, the power Mohinder gets is a very special one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Lying semi-conscious in the docks of Brooklyn, New York is not a clever thing to do alone, at night. Anything could happen: You could get murdered, for instance. But that didn't cross Mohinder Suresh's thoughts when he knew that he could jump at the chance to be _special_. He had seen many people with many different abilities. Hell, he lived with a telepathic cop and a young clairvoyant. He had met a man that could paint the future. He had met a young woman that could regenerate at an exceptionally rapid pace. So, why couldn't Mohinder be like _them_? Why couldn't he be special?

In his semi-conscious state, Mohinder didn't quite know or understand what was happening when two rough-looking guys came over to him; and started to pat him down, searching him for anything valuable. But, other then his watch and a ten dollar bill, Mohinder had nothing of value on him. So, if the two thugs couldn't get nothing decent from Mohinder, why not just drop him into the water? Or beat him so badly that he'd drop _himself_ into the cold water? No. If Mohinder couldn't give them anything that they could sell or trade in for some decent crack. They would take something from Mohinder which would not only scar him mentally, but change the young geneticist's life forever.

**XXXXXX**

Later and later into cold night at the docks in Brooklyn, New York; Mohinder lay, found by a tall figure, darkened by the shadows.

**XXXXXX**

Perspiration practically waterfalled off of Mohinder. His fever was high. Even in Tamil Nadu, India; the temperature never felt as bad as this. Not only was his fever bad, but his nightmares were even worst. Memories of what had happened when he was a child. What had happened when Shanti, his sister, had died. What had happened the night at the docks. In his head, he was replaying every moment. From the moment when he injected himself the formula, right through to when he thought he was going to die. In his dream-filled sleep, Mohinder heard someone calling out his name in the distance. The voice sounded so familiar to him, but Mohinder couldn't pin-point the owner of the voice.

In his unconscious, nightmare-fuelled state, Mohinder screamed. The feeling his nightmare felt so real, and it hurt so terribly. Mohinder awoke with a start, his hand eerily and instinctively rested on his stomach. His breathing was heavy. His dark, curly hair was a mess. His was still wearing clothes (A/N: Sighs in relieve). And he was comfortably situated in a bed, a bed that belonged to the same person that had... changed him?

Mohinder looked around frantically. Somebody had found him. Had saved him. But who? How? He was alone at the docks early hours in the morning; only idiots wander around Brooklyn alone early hours in the morning (A/N: Really? Like who?). Looking around, Mohinder was trying to find some sort of clue, anything, that would tell him who's room it was that he was asleep in.

The room itself was a nice size. And the furnishing wasn't over-crowed. Whoever owned the room had neutral taste is decoration. There was a dark, three-door, wooden wardrobe. A full-length mirror, that matched the wardrobe. And a chest-of-draws that also matched. As did the king-sized bed Mohinder was lying on. The walls were a plain cream colour, but the paintings contrasted the walls. One painting in particular stood out, and caught Mohinder's attention for a moment. A painting of the Arc Angel Gabriel sat a few inches above the bed Mohinder lay in. It was the most elegant, peaceful, sensual piece of art work Mohinder had ever seen.

Deciding that he wasn't going to find out who saved his life by sitting in the said person's bedroom, Mohinder exited from the king-sized bed. Mohinder stumbled to the bedroom door, making his was through the house is saviour own. Again, the interior design was nothing to brag about. But the art work, again, was. Whoever had painted them must have had years of skill. Meaning to explore the house some more, Mohinder felt a shooting pain through his back and fell. Only to be caught by his angel, an angel Mohinder never would have thought he had.

Gabriel Grey.  


	2. Chapter One

Mohinder shot-up from the bed for the second time that day. Perspiration dripping from his forehead as he looked around. He was in that bedroom again. The room with the cream coloured walls. The room with the dark, wooden furniture. The room with the king-sized bed that he lay in. The room with the beautiful painted portrait of the Arc Angel Gabriel that hung above the bed. The room that belonged to Sylar.

 

  
A loud banging sound alerted Mohinder's attention and made him spin his head around to the direction of the noise. As he faced the door, he was met, again, with a sight he thought the would never have seen.  
Gabriel walked through the door; clothed in plain, grey slacks and a white, button-up shirt and dark blue tee-shirt pulled over the top of it. His hair slicked back. He was carrying a tray; with a China bowl and a glass on-top of it. And also a small box.

 

  
Gabriel wandered over to the bed, placing the tray on the bed-side stand and motioned to sit on the bed, until Monhinder skidded away.  
“Hey. What's wrong, Mohinder?” Gabriel asked, worry covering his face.

 

  
Mohinder just stared at him. This must have been a joke. It had to be. This man with worry in his deep Brown eye; was the same man who killed many others with powers, just for the simple pleasure of becoming the world's strongest human being. And now here he was; being a perfectly normal, everyday New Yorker.

 

  
“What do you want, Sylar?” Mohinder questioned, still putting distance between the two of them. He would not give Sylar the chance to get him.

 

  
“Heh,” Gabriel had small smile on his face, “Mohinder you don't need to fear me. I was the one who helped you. I could have left you on the docks to die, but I didn't. And really, if I was going to kill you; I would have done it already.” The smile never went from his face, but that last sentence was Sylar speaking.

 

  
“Now, Mohinder” The voice of the Angel said, “You're going to eat. And get some fluids in you. Then you're going to take the medication that's in the box. Don't worry, it won't kill you. It's just to help lower your temperature. And when I get back, I expect you to be asleep. Okay, Mohinder?”

 

  
All Mohinder could do was nod dumbly. This was definitely a dream; he was sure of it. His temperature was making him have delusional dreams where Gabriel Gray had never become Sylar.  
XXXXXX  
Returning to his apartment, Sylar walked through the door drenched from the falling rain. Shuffling off his heavy trench coat, Sylar wandered towards the darkened bedroom....  
XXX

 

  
A/N: I'm so sorry! I never realized just how short this chapter was!!


End file.
